


Dancing on the Water

by Dolorosa



Category: Romanitas - Sophia McDougall
Genre: F/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21718738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolorosa/pseuds/Dolorosa
Summary: Even in forgotten corners of the world, Una and Marcus cannot escape reminders of Novian power.
Relationships: Marcus Novius Faustus Leo/Noviana Una
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Dancing on the Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_la_grecque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_la_grecque/gifts).



In the early hours of the morning, when the sun was spilling through the window of their room, Una and Marcus slipped downstairs, their feet soft on the warm tiles, and crept, undetected, down to the pier, where Marcus's little boat was waiting. No one was awake save a few bleary-eyed fishermen, who were too focused on the winds, tides, and the day's catch to notice the sandy-haired Novian in their midst. Una, as always, was unobtrusive, her pale face hidden behind a curtain of hair, her eyes darting carefully right and left, her mind reaching out in spite of itself for any whispered hint of threat and danger. But their flight attracted no attention, and they unmoored the boat without observation, cutting their way through the bay and out towards the open ocean.

They were heading for an island whose location Marcus only dimly remembered from his childhood — a trip taken with his parents, some sort of formal occasion with lots of posing for the longvision press, and then one day of freedom, white sand and blue water, his father relieved of the need to perform, his mother relaxed and happy, resting on a beach where nobody knew their names. These moments of escape were rarer, now, even in the relative freedom of Greece, where Marcus was undertaking his studies in the Academy, than they had been when he was a child. Even on this holiday outside Athens, there were Praetorians, hovering, and Una had taken some convincing to even countenance evading them. She had rightly suspected that they would assume she had dragged Marcus away for some nefarious purpose, and so they had compromised by leaving a note in the apartment, informing any concerned Praetorians of their whereabouts. Una hoped they would view today's expedition indulgently as little more than youthful irresponsibility. She leaned forward over the prow of the boat, and let her hands trail through the sparkling water.

Privately, she was impressed by how well Marcus appeared to remember their route, armed only with a rough map he had drawn of the surrounding islands to supplement his childhood memories. She felt the tension leaving her body, and uncurled slightly, turning her face upwards towards the sun. They had left the harbour far behind, and no fishing boats had followed them into this stretch of water. The sea was calm, and Una and Marcus let themselves be carried forwards on their path through the open ocean.

After several hours of travelling, they arrived without incident at their destination, hauling the boat high up on the empty beach, out of reach of any incoming tide. Una let her mind dart almost lazily around the area, but she detected the presence of no other people, and, with something like relief, took Marcus's hand. Hand in hand they started walking, taking a steep track that curved sharply up and away from the beach.

They passed orchards whose trees were heavy with flowers, and gently sloping hills laden with grape vines, stepping carefully along the winding little path. The occasional goats, bleating on the hillsides or swerving in front of them across the stony ground were the only living beings they encountered, cutting through the stillness of the warm morning air. It felt as if they had walked into some other, uninhabited planet, as if they were the only human beings whose feet had ever stepped through those landscapes. They were never out of sight of the sea, which curled around the tiny island like an embrace.

Their final descent took them through a little village, and it was here that they began to encounter other people — the occasional curious farmer, children clustered about an ancient tree, chattering and laughing and trying to climb its branches. An elderly woman was selling bottles of water, and little jars of olives from a stall in front of her house, and Marcus produced a handful of coins, handing them over in exchange for food and drink. Una could sense that he was ducking his head, hoping his face would not be recognised in this place where he could forget he was a Novian. The woman looked at him curiously, but it was a vague kind of curiosity, the kind anyone from a small community might direct at an outsider. Her scattered thoughts seemed to have settled on the assumption that Una and Marcus were members of the idle, wealthy Roman aristocracy — senators' children, perhaps, or the descendants of one of the newly rich industrialists whose factories spanned the Empire — visiting the island for some sun-drenched fun and frivolity. Una felt a flash of irritation that she should be perceived as Roman, and let it fade, her fingers gripping Marcus's wrist just a little too tightly. He turned to her in concern, but she was already leading him away, around a corner and out of the village.

It was on their return to the beach that she spotted what she had not noticed before: a little shrine, tucked up against the rocks that formed a barrier between sand and grass. There were little carved statues, draped with ribbons and seaweed, so worn down by salt- and sand-blasted wind that they were impossible to identify, their purpose unclear. And then, set in their centre was another, newer statue, bleached by the sun, and roughly made, but still recognisable as a representation of Marcus's uncle, the Emperor. Someone had set a little bundle of wheat sheaves and olive branches before Faustus's likeness, weighed down with a stone. There were fresh flowers scattered around in votive offering, and the burnt-out remains of candles in green sea-glass jars.

Una's calm mood was shattered. Even here — even on this sleepy island so small it did not feature on official maps — she could not escape the constant reminders of Novian power and glamour. There were pockets of Emperor-worship scattered all over the Roman world, and while the Novians did not go out of their way to encourage this (finding it almost uncouth and embarrassing), they did nothing to discourage it, either. Una felt a roaring in her ears, like the rush of water of a wave, crashing up against immovable rocks. Marcus, who had not noticed the shrine, strode on ahead, and then, sensing that Una was no longer beside him, turned back to see what had made her pause. She gestured at the shrine, struggling to control her expression.

There was a flicker of amusement on Marcus's face — the idea that anyone would worship his living uncle, seeking his deified help to make the crops grow, was ridiculous — and then he saw things as Una perceived them, the statue and offerings no longer absurd, but a chilling reminder of the wound in the world. His expression changed, an awkward mix of discomfort and shame. He did not try to touch her, simply stood at her side and waited. He could feel the tension radiating from her body as she tried to steady her breathing and return herself to stillness. After several moments, she took his hand, her grip a little shaky, and led him past the shrine towards the breaking waves.

They discarded the outer layers of their clothing, and left them in the boat along with the half-empty water bottles, stepping across the hot sand and into the water. The waves lapped hungrily at their ankles, and the shock of the cold after the warm spring air made Una gasp. Marcus pulled her forwards into the water.

She set aside the unsettling swirl of thoughts that had clouded her mind since encountering the shrine to the Emperor, and let the sea carry her, her hair fanning out as she lay on her back, her eyes shut against the glare of the sun. Marcus was the stronger swimmer — again, Una pushed aside the rush of knowing bitterness that of course this was the case, that it would and could never be otherwise due to their vastly different childhoods, that every skill Marcus had learnt with support and encouragement she had had to teach herself, furtively and with great difficulty, on her own — and he urged Una onwards, out beyond the breaking waves, where the sea rolled with gentle calm.

They clung to each other in the clear blue water, their legs a tangle, their bodies floating together and apart with every dancing wave. Marcus's face had the relaxed look that Una had come to associate with moments when he felt unobserved, when he was alone with her, freed from the weight of expectation and the as yet unachieved ambitions and ceremonial duties of his imperial future. She kissed his closed eyes, and tasted salt. She could feel his hands against her bare skin.

Una felt wiped clean, salt-washed. She sank briefly beneath the water, and then resurfaced, trailing her fingers through Marcus's short hair. His face in the sunlight had never looked more Novian — and yet she could recognise the little hints of unguarded vulnerability that she had first observed in their lonely months on the run together. Both were contained within him, and, as she forced herself to admit when she was feeling at once reflective and self-critical, both had drawn her to him, and kept her there. She would allow herself to forget the uncertain future, at least for a little while, in the unobserved spaces and quiet moments that they could carve out for themselves.

A gaggle of young children from the village swarmed onto the beach, leaping with a shrieking cacophony into the waiting water. Their voices pierced the lazy calm of the warm spring air. Above them, sea birds wheeled and cried in the sunlight. Una and Marcus turned, and began to swim, back towards the shore.

**Author's Note:**

> A missing moment from Marcus and Una's time together in Greece. This fic takes place sometime between _Romanitas_ and _Rome Burning_.


End file.
